The sad do not write about sadness.
The deaf-mute goes about her business,
That compassionate sister at your shoulder,
The keeper of secrets
Who teaches philosophy.
Distance was always my mistress,
Approaching and receding
With comical inflections.
I do not understand people
Who claim they do not like films.
Emotions in quarantine,
I study the effects of separation.
A grief is calling me
To merge.
Death five million times a day,
Each instant
Unmourned.
I take the world in my arms,
Bewildered,
Desperate to love it all
Before it is gone.
Afraid to lose
What is already lost,
I keep my vigil
Before the screen
And take these signs
Into my body.
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